J thanke you twice: Or, The City Courring their owne ruine, Thank the Parliament twice, for their treble undoing.
THe Hierarchy is out of date,
Our Monarchy was sick of late,
But now 'tis growne to an excellent state,
Oh God a mercy Parliament.
The Teachers know not what to say,
The Prentices have leave to play;
The people have all forgoten to pray,
Still God a mercy Parliament.
The Roundhead, and the Cavalier
Have fought it out almost seven yeare,
And yet (me thinks) they are never the neere,
Oh God &c.
The Gentry are sequestred all,
Our Wives you find at Goldsmiths Hall,
For there they meet with the Divell and all,
Still God &c.
The Parliament are growne to that heigth,
They care not a pin what his Majesty faith,
And they pay all their debts with the publique faith,
Oh God &c.
Though all wee had heere, is brought to nought,
In Ireland wee have whole Lordships bought,
And there we shall one day be rich, 'tis thought,
Still God a mercy &c.
We must forsake our Father and Mother,
And for the state, undoe our owne brother,
And never leave murthering of one another,
Oh God &c.
Now the King is caught, and the Devill is dead,
Faireface must be disbanded,
Or else he may chance to be Hothamed,
Still God &c.
They have made King Charles a glorious King,
He was told (long agoe) of such a thing,
Now he, and his Subjects have reason to sing,
Oh God a mercy Parliament,
Mr. Fink.
Mr. An. Dom, 1647.